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Traffic Touch


Somewhere between 7:30 and 8:00am, in a corporate van far too big for one individual, even one as tall as me. The exterior sterile, forgettable white. The interior an unassuming gray. At a stop light. Riding higher than the people in the cars to my left and right, the makes of the vehicles and the appearance of the occupants not unique or striking enough to make a lasting impression. Immediately in front of me another vehicle I also now can no longer recall. An older man driving. Older because of grey in his tight curls, noticeable despite the distance and the two glass divisions between us. Two young women– possibly teens, possibly Asian– as passengers, one in the backseat. The driving (correction: currently waiting) man caresses the face of the young woman in the passenger seat with two fingers, a casual gesture that suggests an intimacy to my watching eyes.  Her response isn’t noticeable from my perspective but she does turn her head in his direction ever so slightly but then faces forward once again no more than a half breath later. Music from a homemade CD spinning in the van’s CD player acts as a soundtrack– Keep On by DJ Champion. It’s loud. The deep, repetitive beats drown traffic sounds and cause my head to pump perceptibly in rhythm.


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